


Remembering in Bits and Pieces

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: (bobby voice) vibe check! (throws chloe out as the warehouse explodes), Aged-Up Character(s), Blood, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hugs, Mission Fic, Other, Post-Canon, Recovery, Serious Injuries, i figured i'd tag that in case some readers get squicked out by blood and injuries, i haven't written this pairing in over five years, the violence tag is mostly for the injuries since they're from an aftermath of a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Rubble surrounds them. Smoke fills the sky. What happens next and what happened before? Chloe can't remember until they spot artifacts of what had been their mission.





	Remembering in Bits and Pieces

The world was an orange kaleidoscope when they blinked open their eyes. Fragmented shapes and hues filled Chloe’s world until they managed to push off their helmet. As they cupped their helmet to their chest, they remained still and stiff, spikes of pain running along their ribs as they sucked down deep breaths.

Sitting up proved to be a challenge. Every muscle in their body felt sore and weighty, their limbs locking at their joints. Rolling over to their side, they felt their helmet slip from their grasp and tumble away towards the rubble. As they coughed, they tried remembering what had happened, but their mind was a black hole filling the gaps in their memory with nothingness.

Surveying their surroundings, they squinted at the odd sights. Before them was a pile of charred bricks. Around them were the remnants of thick trees, their bark seared blacker than night. The cloudless sky above them filled with smoke, but there wasn’t any sign of a blaze or if there had been, the fire had somehow been extinguished.

Rubbing through their buzzed pixie cut, Chloe groaned and glanced down at themself. Their tourist outfit was in tatters. Their purple button-up shirt and gray trousers had been cut up, but they didn’t recall any kind of knife being drawn on them. Frayed edges on their sleeves caught their attention, and they rationalized that somehow, they had been caught in the crossfire of whatever it was that burned the forest and took down the warehouse.

But then what? How did they end up in such a position?

They snatched their helmet with heavy arms and glared at their reflection. A bruise colored their left cheek a nasty purple, reminding them of the terrible blush Kitty applied on them when they were a kid. Sweat dotted their brow and mingled with an open cut above their right eyebrow, which bubbled with unshed blood. Glancing at their wrist, they tilted their head at the fading red handmark wrapped around it, and their eyes shot open.

_Bobby._

Chloe started remembering in scenes that pressed against their eyelids when they blinked. They were on a mission in the Congo to stop a high profile criminal from trafficking psychic children. In their debriefing, they had learned that he preyed upon unsuspecting families with promises to cure their child. When they investigated a few villages, the parents admitted they had no idea where he had taken their children and seemed to vanish into thin air with them. 

Searching around some more had led them to learn about his day job. He was a jungle guide who gave tourists access to grazing gazelles and lions resting in meadows. They had pretended to be part of a tour group to get closer to him, the man’s name’s still escaping Chloe. Listening to the man drone on about the history of the Congo while confined in a shaky, cramped bus filled with shrill children and sweaty parents had irritated Bobby, but Chloe reassured him that they had him cornered.

If only it had been that simple. They had tried confronting him after the tour, but he hit them with a confusion grenade and ran off through a thick throng of trees. Forced to chase after him, they had been assaulted with tree branches slapping back at them and more confusion grenades flung their way. All the while, Bobby’s temper had flared, and he kept missing his PSI blasts, making the mission one of the worst Chloe had undertaken.

But despite the man’s attempts at evasion, they had discovered the warehouse where the children had been allegedly kept. There weren’t any victims inside much to Chloe’s chagrin, but it allowed Bobby to fight the man without any worries. They remembered Bobby setting fire to the upper level, preventing the man from escaping and almost seemed to have him.

Yet, pieces in their memory were missing. They rubbed their split chin as they pondered their circumstances. They didn’t understand why Bobby had telekinetically snatched their wrist and threw them through the front doors. All they recalled was the PSI energy crackling in the air, and the aghast expression crossing Bobby’s face before they fell into unconsciousness.

Crawling over to the rubble, they gnawed on their lower lip as the day rewound and replayed like a broken VHS tape. They sunk their hands deep into the bricks and heaved them out. It was one brick after another while his name echoed in their thoughts. They clawed their way through the remnants until something shiny caught their attention.

A pair of crooked glasses reflected the sun’s glare. It briefly blinded them until the lenses popped out when they touched them. They shuddered and stuffed his glasses in their helmet, their search growing more frantic as they called out his name.

A spot of blue skin among the red bricks made their heart sink into their stomach. A limp, freckled hand with faint pink scars across the knuckles burned their retinas. Rustic liquid rolled between the fingers, the faint scent of copper harming them more than the smoke ever could.

“Bobby,” they breathed, their arms falling to their knees. They raised their hands, willing themself to continue digging, but if they did, if might have confirmed their worst fears. 

Gnashing down on their molars, Chloe snatched the bricks and flung them over their shoulders. Despite the pain searing in their arms, one of them possibly fractured, they pried him free from the wreckage. More and more of him appeared and so did that rustic liquid coating his face, his neck, his bare shoulders, until he seemed more red than blue.

They blinked, the sight entirely alien to them. There was Bobby lying face-down in the grass and bricks. One of his arms was extended over his head, his fingers clutching the criminal’s ankle in a vice grip. His upper lip had swelled a bit with a round welt. His nose was broken, blood leaking down his chin and onto the fabric of the floral shirt he didn’t want to wear, but Chloe had insisted it would be perfect for their mission.

“Bobby,” they mumbled almost stupidly, their vision blurring, “Bobby, wake up.”

The smoky breeze brushed through the curly locks of his frazzled afro, and the color drained from their face.

“Bobby, wake up,” they croaked, shaking his shoulder. Their grasp slipped and smeared a bloody handprint near the base of his neck. They sucked down a shaky breath and wiped their hand on their pants. The stain set in too quickly, the chill making them shout, “Bobby, wake up!”

The smoke taunted them by swirling around their head and weighing them down with nauseating grief.

“No,” they breathed out, their shoulders slackening. Hunching forward, they tugged his shirt and wished they had let him wear something else. The black jacket he had initially picked out would have looked nicer on him compared to the bright green and white flowers on the loose shirt. They heaved him out of the wreckage, his grip still wound around the man’s ankle like a bear trap.

Their mind blanked as the bricks gave way. He was as silent as a corpse in their arms. Gone was his posturing, replaced with stillness. The once steady rise and fall of his chest had vanished, and with trembling fingers, they pressed them to his neck.

Nothing. There was only stillness. Was it rigor mortis keeping his grip so strong on the man’s ankle? Had it settled in so quickly that they hadn’t realized it?

“No. No, no,” was all they could whisper. Screwing their eyes shut, they tried willing their tears away. Their brows furrowed, and they twisted their head from side to side as the logical outcome invaded their thoughts, forcing them to acknowledge the truth.

They remembered what had happened and wished they had some psychic power to rewind time. In a desperate attempt, the man had gathered all of his psychic energy to blow the warehouse apart. It was an explosion so devastating that not even Dogen could match that level of blastokinesis.

And Bobby had taken it at point blank range. He had been standing only a yard away from him, his fists burning to deliver the final blow. But he must have realized what the man had been trying to do, and his only intention had been to save Chloe by telekinetically throwing them as far away as he could before the ignition which tore the warehouse apart. Bobby’s gaping mouth and wide eyes, the way he saved them out seconds before detonation, his final moments sliced their head apart as the memories resurfaced from their brain.

“No, no, no, no.” They wheezed out that word as if it could revive him. Gripping their jaw, they squeezed their eyes until they hurt and choked back a sob. Their body quaked under their sorrow, a wretched sickness burning them from within as if their stomach acid had been spilled out, and they wept, their anguish too much to withhold any longer as the truth pounded in their skull.

Copper and smoke filled their lungs, and they almost wished they could have suffocated.

_Agent Barge, are you there? We haven’t heard from you in hours. Agent Barge, respond._

A voice reached their mind. Telepathic messages from headquarters were nothing new. Chloe was one of the best telepaths in the Motherlobe, but they didn’t respond. They couldn’t find the strength as they buried their face in their hands.

_Agent Barge, come in! Can you hear me? Did you engage Phil Ilunga?_

Was that the man’s name? They didn’t care about the mission. It didn’t matter, not anymore.

_Agent Barge, will you respond? Agent Barge!_

“Shut up, just shut up,” they seethed under the breath, the palms of their hands pressing against her temples. “Will you people just shut up?”

“Y-yeah, they better-they better shuddup. Stu-stupid HQ assholes bein’ loud in my head, too.”

A raspy, spluttering voice split through Chloe’s despair. They ripped their hands away from their face and watched his mismatched eyes flutter open and squint. They listened to him moan, which reminded them of the frogs they would dissect back in Whispering Rock. Chloe watched him sit up and uncurl his grip around Phil’s ankle, his limbs trembling the entire time. Pressing his palm to his forehead, he hissed, and they caught his hand as he jerked it back to his side.

“F-fuckin’ blasto-shit-nesis. Almost-nngh-got me,” he mumbled, his anger palpable only to vanish the moment he saw their face. He gawked, words seeming to fail him as he scanned them up and down. He took in their outfit and the frayed edges of their sleeves, asking, “Oh, fuck, you okay?”

He was on death’s door, and he had the nerve to ask if they were okay. They stared at him, their expression a blank slate. Words formed in their throat and died. They breathed in uneasily, lips parted to say something, but their throat felt scratchy, and their lungs ached, leaving them mute. 

Bobby managed an awkward grin with his fat lip and blood-stained teeth. To them, it was the most perfect smile they had ever seen. Chloe threw their arms around his neck and ignored his yelp, bringing him closer to them. They threaded their fingers through his unruly locks of fiery red hair, logic replaced with emotion as they cried.

“Uh, wha-? H-hey, I ain’t dead,” he said unconvincingly, his tired arms looping around the small of their back.

“I know,” they mumbled into his shoulder, closing their eyes. All of their sorrow dissipated like the smoke far above their heads. _This is Agent Barge. The mission has been completed, but we need medical attention now. Do not ask me any useless questions._

Chloe didn’t listen to the other agent, whoever they were, as they tried to glean information about the mission. They nestled into Bobby, breathing in the faintest hint of his cologne contrasting with the overwhelming stench of copper. When he coughed and grimaced, they took the hint and helped him stand, pulling his arm over their shoulder. He leaned into their taller frame, his bushy afro pressing against their torn, pale pink bow and groaned, a vein pulsing in his brow.

“You’ll be okay,” they said, cupping his rough hands as the pain resettled in both of them, “I’ll make sure of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i had that iconic tails gets trolled panel stuck in my head while writing this.
> 
> chloe: bobby, wake up! you fucked up big time  
bobby: _chloe_


End file.
